


tendrils of smoke lash the street

by madnessiseverything



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Light Angst, Pre-Canon, dramatic use of barriers, that fateful cultist run over hour, will i ever not be emotional about the motw special? i doubt it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 18:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21324589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madnessiseverything/pseuds/madnessiseverything
Summary: Bette can’t get to Cleo. Cleo is on the floor, bleeding, scrabbling at the tarmac and Bette can’t get to her. Her hands slam uselessly against the invisible barrier and she screams, begs for her Master to let her through.or the one where Bette watches her (ex)-girlfriend and a kid kill a cultist.
Relationships: Betty | Bette/Cleo (Rusty Quill Gaming)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	tendrils of smoke lash the street

**Author's Note:**

> this has been sitting in my docs for way too long i cannot believe i kept forgetting to finish it up. the motw special will never fail to make me emotional about this disaster found family so this will likely be number one of the motw fics. hope you enjoy!
> 
> title is from "moonlight kissed" by poets of the fall

Bette can’t get to Cleo. Cleo is on the floor, bleeding, scrabbling at the tarmac and Bette can’t get to her. Her hands slam uselessly against the invisible barrier and she screams, begs for her Master to let her through. She knows it’s His doing, can see His cult beyond the barrier, had watched His ritual going sideways to create the figure stepping towards Cleo as she collapses again, her arms giving out. Bette sobs.  
  
The figure should not exist, she knows this much. The ritual went wrong. She sees it in its stumbling gait, in the way it seems too big yet too small, in the rasping breaths that show its lungs cannot heal from the wounds Cleo has given it. But it isn’t down yet and Bette knows it will kill Cleo, will stab its clawed hands through her chest and Bette will be right here. She thinks she might hear Him laughing in the back of her head and she slams her hands against the barrier again.  
  
The sound of an engine makes her freeze. Cleo is in the middle of the street. The cultist is stumbling towards her, feet already on the tarmac. A rusted mess of a car is rushing across the tarmac in reverse and Bette starts screaming again, this time at Cleo, begging her to get out of the way in time. 

The car’s boot slams into the cultist and Bette flinches. Wheels just barely miss Cleo as the cultist goes flying and the car screeches to a halt. The driver’s door opens and a lanky person spills out, eyes wide and slightly glazed. “Holy shit,” they exclaim, voice high and Bette is pretty sure she is looking at a twelve-year-old. But Cleo is okay, the cultist is unmoving further down the road and Bette sinks against the barrier with a sigh that feels like she is exhaling her very existence. Thanks to any god stop short in her throat but she thinks them anyways.  
  
The kid is rambling, a thin hand stretched out to Cleo, shaking slightly. Cleo takes the offer and the kid nearly falls in their attempt to haul Cleo up, but soon both are standing and Bette wants to cry in relief. Cleo looks worse for wear, but she is alive. The kid is speaking a mile a minute, arms flailing around and Cleo looks incredibly confused.  
  
“That was so cool! Did you see that - I think my driving skill really came across, they just went flying! I knew I could do it, I saw you lying and I knew I could-”  
  
There is movement behind the car and Bette screams again. The cultist is up and a clawed hand shoots out to pull the kid back. Cleo isn’t fast enough and the hand is around the kid’s throat and Bette begs Cleo to think rationally. She can see the claws digging ever so slightly into the throat of the now whimpering kid and her hands are back to punching the barrier. She can see the wrath flickering in Cleo’s eyes.  
  
“Let them go,” Cleo says and Bette knows that tone, can feel the barely contained rage. The kid is slack in the cultist’s grip, eyes wide and breathing shallow. A thin trickle of blood makes its way into their shirt collar.  
  
“And why should I do such a thing, now that I have your full attention?” The cultist’s voice is _ wrong _ and Bette feels it tug at her very being. The ritual may have failed, but she can feel Him within it.  
  
Cleo has her knife in her hand and Bette knows what she will do. She just hopes Cleo is fast enough. “You have no use for a kid, not one like this.”  
  
Bette chokes a desperate laugh at the flash of indignation in the kid’s eyes. If they can find that within them…  
  
Cleo’s knife buries itself in the cultist’s head before it can respond. It crumples, taking the kid with it. The kid yelps and the barrier vanishes so suddenly that, were she still alive, Bette would be sprawled out on the road. Instead, she stays exactly where she is, because Cleo is pulling the kid out from underneath the cultist and Bette knows they won’t need help anymore.  
  
“That was wicked!” The kid exclaims and Bette wishes she could be this enthusiastic about the near-death Cleo finds herself in too many times a week. “Teamwork!” Bette finds herself laughing at the expression in Cleo’s face at the outstretched fist in front of her.  
  
“What on earth are you doing here?”  
  
The kid seems to sober up, dropping the fist and taking a step back. “Nothing. Out for a ride!”  
  
“How can you possibly be driving a car, you look like you’re, what, thirteen?” Cleo’s arm is wrapped around her ribs and Bette closes her eyes to reach out for her magic at the same time as the kid straightens up in indignation.  
  
“I’m eighteen!”  
  
“Sure you are.”  
  
“Do you need a ride or not? I can leave you out here with this… what the fuck was it anyway?”  
  
Bette opens her eyes again and sighs, more out of habit than anything else. Cleo is standing straighter, her arm now at her side. Bette smiles and curls her hand around the pendant underneath her blouse, thinks about Cleo’s smile when she gave it to her. Cleo knocks her fist against the roof of the rusty mustang with a sigh. “A cultist.”  
  
“Wow!”  
  
“You should not be excited at that prospect.”  
  
The kids seems entirely unconcerned. Bette feels worry about their wellbeing settle itself into her brain. “We killed a cultist, that’s so cool!”  
  
“I killed a cultist.”  
  
“Hey! I ran him over for you!”  
  
Bette watches the furrow of Cleo’s brow smooth out as she heaves a sigh and gives a nod to the kid. “... You’re right. Thank you.”  
  
“You’re welcome. Do you need a ride?”  
  
“Yes, please.”  
  
“Awesome! Get in!” The kid jumps into the driver’s seat, slamming the door in a way that makes Bette almost expect the entire car to fall apart in response.  
  
Cleo seems just as apprehensive. “Maybe I should drive.”  
  
“No way! My car, my rules!”  
  
Bette doesn’t move closer, even as she loses sight of Cleo after she reluctantly climbs into the passenger seat. The engine comes to life and Bette waits with bated breath, ready to intervene should the car careen off the street. Nothing of the sort happens and Bette exhales.  
  
She carefully doesn’t think about how angry and violent Cleo has become in the past few months. She’ll think about it later. Right now, she has a car to catch up on.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [tumblr](https://extinctioniscoming.tumblr.com) and on [twitter](https://twitter.com/notanycritter). feel free to drop by and yell with me about this beautiful family that definitely is fine.


End file.
